I’m not sure if I’ve related the full extent of my desire to be a father yet. It could be because, until now, it’s been a private discussion between my wife and I. Or at least I thought it was. Turns out she’s okay with me writing about it, so here it is.

I want to be a dad more than anything else. I don’t care about shitty diapers and a lack of sleep and puke, pee, and poop getting all over everything I own. I find that the most common thread among conversations I have in that regard is that I’m somehow assumed to be unaware of how much work a child is. I’m not. I know I’ll be dedicating the rest of my life to raising a kid. I know what that entails, even if I’ve never experienced it directly.

The prospect of creating a tiny little life is a daunting one, to be sure. The fact that I have this power is a bit scary, really. The fact that people are born being able to do this is just baffling.

I don’t often wonder if I’m too young to be doing this. Kaitlin and I share the same fear, that we’ll put it off and put it off, and then one day we’ll find that we’re too old to do it. What teenager wants parents older than fifty, honestly? We’re at a point in our lives both emotionally and financially that makes sense.

The responsibility is incredible. I’ll be shouldering a larger load than I’ve ever done in my life. I’ll be responsible for teaching so much. I’ve heard it said that one learns to raise their children with their children. It makes a certain kind of sense to me. I only hope that I am worthy of such a task.